


Self-Deprecation

by grayscale



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayscale/pseuds/grayscale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji and Kawamura reflect on the match against Shitenhouji.  Set during Nationals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Deprecation

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing to bits. They were so perfect in the match against Shitenhouji, too... I cried at the end of both of their games. So... I had to reflect on it somehow!

It's been a very, very long day for the both of them. Both of them have experienced a whirlwind of emotions, have been to the depths of hell and back, physically and mentally. As he limps from the bus stop to the restaurant, Kawamura knows he looks pathetic, a hulking mess, all bandages and wraps and slings, but, even if he can barely walk, barely _stand_ tomorrow, he's existing in the knowledge that he _won_ , his last game with Seishun Gakuen, his last competitive tennis match ever, and he won. His body might be falling apart at the seams, but he was filled with an overwhelming, warm emotion that was extremely hard to define and seemed to leak out of him at every opportunity in the form of pure joy. Which was more than could be said for Fuji. 

It was true, Fuji had taken a few hard falls, been a little roughed up-- there was a bit of a scrape on his left cheek that was screamingly obvious to Kawamura, faintly red against the pale, delicate skin, but was probably next thing to invisible to everyone else, and there were a few scratched and bruises littering his arms and legs. But unlike Kawamura, Fuji, the tensai, the brilliant, talented strategist, the real tennis player of the two of them, had lost. For the first time in singles, Fuji had lost, and Kawamura had never seen him look quite so crushed as he did directly afterwards, sitting on that bench, hunched over, towel draped over his head, hiding his face from the rest of the team. Kawamura had wanted so badly to embrace him at the moment, to push everyone else out of the way and just take Fuji into his arms and tell him that everything would be all right, but, of course, he knew better than that, and so he had let things be for the rest of the day and into the evening. Fuji put on a happy face, as ever, Fuji had always been a genius at compartmentalizing and internalizing, but Kawamura hadn't know what to do besides put on a smile as well and sit through the yakiniku adventure and then catch the bus home with everyone else. 

But now, walking home from the bus stop, everyone has gone their separate ways, and its just him and Fuji. Kawamura knows that Fuji's house isn't anywhere near his and that Fuji should have turned away long ago, but he says nothing all the same. If Fuji wants to come with him, Kawamura is more than happy to have him, and though he will force nothing, if Fuji will let him, Kawamura is longing to give comfort, stability, unconditional love-- all those things that he thinks maybe, maybe Fuji might like, might need if he weren't already perfect in every way. Silently, they walk, Fuji just a few paces behind Kawamura, down the little row of shops until they reach the doorway labeled "sushi" and Kawamura slows. As Fuji catches up, he holds the door, unable to keep a soft smile from his lips as he watches Fuji glance at him a second, a fraction of what might have been a smile dancing across his lips before he enters. Kawamura locks the door behind him and follows at his heels, turning off lights as he goes; it's late and his family will have all gone to sleep by now, but they're kind enough to leave the lights on for him, and he is always responsible enough to turn them off after himself. 

When he gets to his bedroom, Fuji is already inside, unbuttoning his Regular uniform. He doesn't look up when Kawamura enters the room and shuts the door behind himself, only asks, very simply, "Would you like to shower first, Taka-san?" Kawamura shakes his head tells him he ought to go ahead; he's always been polite anyway, but, of course, Fuji always comes first. Just as, even after all this time, he politely looks away as Fuji strips naked, busies himself with finding him a towel from his drawer, which he holds out and doesn't follow with his gaze until a few seconds after he feels Fuji retrieve it. Fuji smiles and says he won't be long, and Kawamura responds by telling him to take as long as he likes and following him out the door with his eyes before dropping down onto his bed with a sigh. 

More than worried, right now, he's a little unsure. Fuji has always been completely comfortable with everything and anything, of course, and it's not odd for him to invite himself over for the night, not anymore, especially. Kawamura knows Fuji's family functions very differently from his own, and that when he wants privacy, Fuji comes here, where everyone is respectful and polite, unlike Fuji's home, where everything is a little like a spring-loaded bear trap hidden in the woods; it seems perfectly safe on the surface, but there's something sharp beneath. Fuji thrives there, Kawamura knows, Fuji has layers of his own, but he's pleased, nonetheless, to know that his boyfriend finds rare sanctuary with him, in his own small but half-organized bedroom. And he knows, now, that if Fuji wants to talk, Fuji will talk to him, and if Fuji wants sex, Fuji will let him know, and if Fuji just wants some time to himself, Kawamura will respect that. He knows, and yet he worries a little, nonetheless, until Fuji leads a steamy trail back into his room and informs him that the shower is his. 

When he returns from the bathroom, he finds Fuji dressed in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his socks; everything's far too big for Fuji's slender, delicate frame but Fuji doesn't seem to care that the sweatshirt comes down almost to his knees and the socks bag and bunch around his calves and ankles. He sits on the bed and waits as Kawamura dresses in his pyjamas, then scoots over slightly amongst the sheets to make a spot for Kawamura when he makes his way over towards the bed, as well. Kawamura has a mid-sized futon which is just big enough for the two of them if they press close together while lying down, but sitting, it's perfectly comfortable and roomy. Still, when Kawamura sits beside him, Fuji moves back a little closer, leaning his head against Kawamura's shoulder, and Kawamura can't help but put an arm around him, not when he's been longing to pull him close for so long now. Fuji says nothing, only leans, breathes evenly, and Kawamura doesn't want to push him, but sometimes, he just can't help himself. 

"Syuusuke," he says softly, hesitantly; he's still not entirely comfortable with the name, even when Fuji's been urging him to use it for months now. He doesn't know what else to say, but he has the feeling that Fuji can tell what he's thinking, what he feels. It's always been that way, and it was a little unnerving, at first, but Kawamura has learned to expect it, and it doesn't bother him anymore. 

"Taka-san," Fuji replies evenly, his voice like thick velvet, beautiful but just a little heavy. "I lost today." 

"It was close," Kawamura replied a little too quickly, "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known-- with the triple counters--" He doesn't want to go into too much detail, because if how much it had hurt him to watch the match is any indication, it must have been extremely painful for Fuji. 

Fuji shakes his head once against Kawamura's biceps, and Kawamura can head him swallow. "No. If I had played seriously from the beginning--"

Before he can stop himself, the protective instinct inside of Kawamura takes over and he pulls Fuji closer, into his lap, one hand moving to stroke his hair comfortingly as he looks down in an attempt to meet Fuji's eyes. "You played beautifully. You invented three more counters. You played your best. What more can anyone ask of you?" 

Halfway through, Fuji does open his eyes, and Kawamura stares into the breathtaking blue depths with all intent, because he knows what he's saying is true and he wants Fuji to know he knows it true, because then maybe Fuji will believe, too. He doesn't know what to think when, a few moments later, Fuji's lips curl up slightly at the edges and he lets out a few quiet laughs. Kawamura opens his mouth to inquire, but before he can even speak a syllable, Fuji leans up and kisses him, entirely without warning. 

It's not the most graceful kiss they've ever shared, nor the most passionate, nor the longest, but there's something about the way Fuji's lips are soft against his, even when he pulls back just the faintest reduction in pressure and whispers, right up against Kawamura's lips, "I love you, Takashi." Kawamura really does want to respond, but Fuji doesn't give him the chance yet again, and it's a good few minutes before Kawamura gets his chance to speak, but when he does, he's insistent, assured. 

"I love you, too, very, very much. But it doesn't change the fact that you played beautifully." 

Fuji shakes his head again, looking down at Kawamura's lap, which he's currently straddling. "I regret. I regret not being serious sooner. I regret not knowing myself well enough to accomplish my goal for the team. I regret not being able to finish the game with my very best." He pauses only a split second, looking up at Kawamura. "I don't want to have anymore regrets." 

Kawamura is quick to jump to Fuji's defense, even against himself. "I'm sure you won't-- you're a tensai, after all, and--" 

But Fuji puts a finger to his lips, quieting him instantly. "Not only in tennis," he explains softly. "I want you to know how much I love you, because if you misunderstand, even a little bit... I know it will be the worst regret of all. Do you understand, Taka-san?" 

Kawamura cannot find words at that moment, but he wraps his arms around Fuji's back and pulls him close again, swallowing and willing his voice to exist. "I promise. You won't have any more reason to regret." 

He can feel Fuji rest his face against his chest, can feel Fuji smile. After a moment, his voice comes gently, "You were wonderful today, Taka-san." 

Kawamura laughs a little, embarrassed, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck. "Today was terrible. That last shot... it was a miracle." 

But Fuji insists, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "It was everything you felt at the moment... it was your strength and your determination." 

It's Kawamura's turn to shake his head, however, and he smiles down at Fuji with all the tenderness and love in the world. "It was a miracle. I'm one lucky guy, you know... I got you, as well." 

Finally, he makes Fuji laugh. "Hush," he says with a smile, "We won today, so it went well. Let's not think about it an move on. All right?" And with that, he falls back onto the futon on his back, tugging Kawamura on top of him, and pulls him into another open-mouthed kiss. 

And, really, Kawamura can't argue with that.


End file.
